


Black and White

by HooperMolly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:43:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HooperMolly/pseuds/HooperMolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Light and shade, opposite but the same. Yet here Isaac is, somehow coming between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and White

They're drunk, or at least Allison is. Isaac's consumed an entire bottle of vodka and is well into his second. It's enough to give him a pleasant buzz, his limbs relaxing as his mind settles into a pleasant glow. 

Allison's had a quarter of what he's had and she's completely gone. She says something to him, the meaning lost in the midst of drunken slurring and Isaac laughs, poking fun at her for being so vulnerable to the effects of alcohol. For being so human. 

Scott chastises him, tells him not to be rude but Allison is laughing, eyes glassy and her cheeks flushed. Again words spill from her mouth, running together into a single stream. It's directed at Scott. 

He replies, his tone light and easy. Apparently he's seen her in this state often enough to be able to decipher her speech. Without warning Allison is upon Isaac, kissing him unashamedly. 

Isaac had never really thought about kissing Allison, but if he had it would have been nothing like this. If he had to guess what she would taste like it would be strawberries and citrus, fresh and sweet. 

But Allison tastes nothing like that. As Isaac responds to the kiss, lips parting and allowing her in, he can taste oak and fire.

\------

Isaac wakes up to a warm body pressed against him on one side and nothing but cold air on the other. There's too much hair in his face for it to be Scott but then again why would it be Scott? 

It wasn't Scott who kissed him last night. Her heartbeat is strong and steady but her skin is hot and there's sweat on her forehead. Today is not going to be pleasant for her. He runs his fingers through her hair as the smell of pancakes rises from the kitchen below. Isaac sits up, carefully rolling off the bed to avoid waking Allison. 

She has the whole bed to herself now but she only curls up further into herself as though trying to escape the empty space surrounding her. He can see now that she only has her underwear on, black, both the singlet and the bottoms. 

Isaac has always associated black with Allison, but until now he'd always thought it was because black represented death. Black may be death but that was not all that it was. 

Black was a clean slate, the absence of light, the purest night. Black was redemption. If Allison is black then Scott is white. White as the full moon, the absence of fear, the stars in the sky. White was also redemption. 

Light and shade, opposite but the same. Yet here Isaac is, somehow coming between them. 

Scott greets him cheerily, 3 perfect pancakes sitting on a plate as he stands over another one in the pan. A mutilated first attempt lies discarded on the sink. 

_I kissed your girlfriend last night._ Isaac wants to scream it at him, as Scott carries on happily with this display of domesticity. 

Scott should be angry, shouldn't he? That's what usually happens when someone kissed someone else's girlfriend. 

_I kissed your girlfriend but I didn't kiss you._ It seems so wrong because if Isaac could choose who to kiss, could have chosen anyone at all he would have chosen Scott. 

There's 4 pancakes now and Scott's pushing the top two onto a second plate. He hands one to Isaac and asks him what he likes on them. 

Lemons. 

Scott nods and fetches fresh lemons from the fridge and the container of sugar from the pantry. He's misunderstood, in his usual way. 

Scott watches as Isaac slices open a lemon and squeezes, pale liquid spraying down and soaking into the top pancake and pooling on the plate. He's still watching when Isaac picks up his cutlery and cut a chunk out of both pancakes at once and brings it to his mouth. 

He understands now, although it's clear from the expression on his face that he's a little surprised. Isaac has always liked lemons and their sour juices that wander along the edge of unpleasantness. Scott heaps more cinnamon and sugar onto his own pancakes than Isaac expects, the resulting mess looking more like a dirty snowfield than sweet toppings. 

They eat slowly, talking the whole time about everything and anything. Except the kiss. Isaac wants to and he can sense that Scott does too but still they don't. 

There was no regret, not on Isaac's part. He didn't initiate the kiss so he knows he's done nothing wrong. It can't be irritating Scott that much either or he would be saying something. Perhaps that's the problem. 

Allison has changed things before the boys were ready and now they have no choice but to scramble to catch up. 

_I want to kiss her again, but it's not just her._

The sourness on his tongue is sublime. He doesn't know how Scott can handle so much sweetness. Why would anyone want anything but the harsh bitter bite of citrus? Pancakes were sweet enough on their own. 

_I want to kiss you._

Scott collects Isaac's empty plate and rinses it in the sink with his own before he places them in the dishwasher. There's a creaking from the stairs and they both turn, knowing that Allison is making her way down to them. 

She enters the kitchen looking pale, hair knotted and disheveled as it hangs haphazardly around her face. Suddenly she's at the sink, whole body heaving as she wretches. In this moment Isaac's glad that his own body processes alcohol so quickly, grateful that never will he experience the joys of a killer hangover. 

He moves faster than he can comprehend, over at the sink before he can blink, fingers gently holding back her hair as she violently throws up. Scott is beside her, hand rubbing small circles soothingly at the base of her spine. Isaac meets his eyes and let's him know that he has her. 

Scott walks calmly over to the pantry and pulls out an old battered looking teapot and a small tin of tea. Isaac is assaulted with the strong smell of peppermint as soon as Scott takes the lid of the tin, carefully spooning leaves into the pot. 

Isaac counts them; one, two, three, four. One for each cup and one for the pot. The kettle feels like it takes an eternity to boil as Isaac sits next to Allison at the dining table. 

She looks slightly better than when she first got up, a little of the colour has returned to her cheeks and the sheen of sweat has started to vanish. Scott comes in balancing the pot and three cups on a tray. 

She apologises for throwing up in his sink and Scott assures her that it's nothing to worry about. When she presses, concerned about what his mum might say he reminds her that Melissa is a nurse, and they all laugh. 

Allison clutches her head as though it might split in two and Isaac finds himself rubbing small concentric circles on her back while Scott pours tea. The peppermint washes away the taste of the lemons, and while it has the same freshness it's still a bit disappointing. Allison drinks three cups. She still looks peaky but reports that she no longer feels like she's biting back the urge to vomit. 

Isaac makes what he believes is a witty remark about the pleasant taste of mint flavoured vomit that goes unappreciated by both of those who hear it. They move back into the living room because the heavy curtains make it easy to darken, settling Allison down on the sofa with a bottle of water and a soft blanket. It's the same sofa where she kissed Isaac last night but no one mentions that. 

Isaac sits in the armchair and Scott sprawls himself on the floor, spouting nonsense about some book or other he just finished reading for his english essay. Allison drifts off into a light sleep, the bottle snuggled firmly between her arms. Isaac lifts his feet off the floor and places them on the chair, drawing his knees up to his chin. Then he realises that's a closed gesture and places them back again. 

It's a nice chair, soft in all the right places, but he can't get comfortable. In the end he relents and joins Scott on the floor as he babbles on about some guy called Aristotle. He likes listening to Scott talk so he lets him continue for ages until he can't hold it in anymore. 

So he asks him what he thinks about Allison kissing Isaac, and Isaac kissing back. Scott hesitates, as though he was hoping that they could avoid this conversation. He's getting no such luck, as Isaac presses, asks why no ones talking about it. It was just a kiss, Scott tries to brush it away but Isaac won't let him. She was drunk. 

It's a data point that Isaac had forgotten and he panics that maybe he's taken advantage of a person who wasn't capable of consent. He's sitting upright now, clawing at the carpet beneath him for support. The movement wakes Allison, her brow furrowing in confusion as she takes in his concern. 

We can do it again now if it worries you, she tells him, I remember it and I don't regret a single second. It's enough to soothe him, to assure him that it's okay. 

She wanted to, he says to Scott. Scott looks like he's trying to swallow a double shot of tequila. 

No I didn't mean it like that, Isaac says, hoping that Scott can see the sincerity. He was not trying to gloat or wound, just show Scott another data point that didn't add up, to make him tell him why he was avoiding the confrontation that Isaac still assumed was inevitable. 

Then Scott was kissing him, pushing him back into the sofa, one handing gripping Isaac's shoulder tightly, as though Scott was worried that at any moment Isaac was going to slip away. 

_I'm kissing you._

He'd kissed black and now he was kissing white. He briefly wondered if that made him some shade of grey, or perhaps even every shade. The puzzle pieces he'd been pushing about in his mind since last night slot into place, the final solution building itself up just behind his eyes. He's steadying himself with his right hand but his left hand is free to bring up and curl through Scott's hair, encouraging, reassuring.

Allison tasted smoky and ellusive, like running through the woods. Scott's taste is grounding and sharp, like lemons.


End file.
